For 100 Days(93)

His dark brows arch. “Ready for another round?”

I laugh, but I have no doubt he’s serious. “You’re completely insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I thought that was one of the things you like about me.”

“Utterly shameless too,” I add, smiling as I pop my last bite of sauce-slathered noodles into my mouth. Holding up my near-empty plate, I indicate our decimated food supply with another jab of my chopstick. “More, please.”

He leans over to kiss me. “Baby, more is one thing you never need to ask for with me.”

We’re both seated on the bed naked—or partially naked in my case. I’m wearing the string of pearls again, although in a more traditional manner now. Looped twice around my neck, the long strand falls over my breasts and down my belly, pooling in the V of my crossed legs. Each slide of the silky gems over my nipples or against my nude sex is a decadent reminder of the hours of pleasure I’ve shared with Nick tonight.

We’ve hardly left the bedroom since he arrived hours ago. When our stomachs started complaining, we finally showered and called for food delivery, neither of us interested in getting dressed to go out when we could extend our naked reunion   into a likely all-nighter.

As I watch him stretch to grab one of the food containers off the tray, my body stirs all over again in lustful appreciation for this gorgeous, intriguing, endlessly seductive man who feeds every hunger I have.

When Nick pivots back toward me to spoon the last of the drunken noodles onto my plate, his gaze catches mine. He pauses, tilting his head. “What?”

“I just remembered we were supposed to celebrate your London deal when you got home.”

“Isn’t that what we just did?” He empties the container, then sets it back on the tray, licking his fingers. “I think this should be the new standard in celebrations. You, me, hours of uninterrupted sex. A week’s worth of takeout for the lady and her alarmingly massive appetite afterward.”

“Oh!” I gape in venomless outrage, setting my plate down so I can lunge for him. “My massive appetite? You ate just as much as me, you bastard.”

Chuckling, he takes me down with him, my body sprawled across the front of him on the mattress. I hardly even care that we’ve upset the tray at the end of bed. I’ll worry about a little spilled rice later. Right now, the only thing that matters to me is the firm warmth of Nick’s body beneath mine, his mouth hot and consuming as we fall into a slow, sensual kiss.

His cock presses thick and steely against my abdomen. I’m already wildly turned on and aching for him, and the erotic feel of the string of pearls crushed between us makes my desire ratchet even higher.

With some effort, I draw back from his kiss. “Just for that smartass remark, I shouldn’t tell you that I have a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. I was saving it for when you got back, but now I’m not sure you deserve it.”

He smirks at me. “That’s not what you would’ve said earlier tonight. How many times do I have to make you come?”

I shrug, pretending to consider. “At least once more. Twice, if you really want to impress me.”

He laughs, his eyes dark with erotic promise. “I always strive to impress, Ms. Ross.”

As if to demonstrate, his hands drift from my ass to the crevice of my body. He strokes my cleft, plunging two fingers inside my sex without warning. I arch into his intimate touch, a sigh hissing through my parted lips. “Nick. Mmm . . .”

He withdraws much too soon for my liking, giving me a light spank. “Let’s go get that champagne I’m going to earn.”

We head out of the bedroom together, me in my pearls and nothing else, and Nick looking godlike as he strides into the living room where my easel is set up atop a blanket of paint-speckled sheets. My newly finished painting is still on the stand, but covered with a cloth drape.

I pause at the threshold of the kitchen as he approaches the piece.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh. Um, nothing really. Just playing around, trying something different.”

He turns a curious look on me. “May I?”

“No.” I shake my head, worried he won’t like it. I’m terrified he’ll think this new piece is just as awful as my others—or worse, that it will negate even the small amount of talent he claims to see in me. “I’m not ready to show it to anyone, Nick.”

Least of all him since he was the reason I painted it in the first place.

“You don’t trust me?”

I drift over to where he stands, subtly inserting myself between him and my easel. “I’m not ready.”